


Coming Down The Aisle While The Horns Play Taps

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rumbelle War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle is a soldier, Rumpelstiltskin a coward, and he mixes up the difference between fate and self-fulfilling prophecies, and how much the brave can take before they crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down The Aisle While The Horns Play Taps

                She was to wed a soldier, in her old life. Knight’s daughter, knight’s bride, to bring up sons who would wield swords and ride horses, and daughters who would follow her steps. The fighting class guarded their daughters from danger, from lust, and then threw them harshly into both. The marriage bed and the birthing bed, and the ones who were soldiers themselves came out unbroken.

                Belle would have survived, had she needed to, he knows that. He took her away from both those dangers when they made their deal: all the agony and bliss of love and motherhood. She never spoke of either, then, unless he pressed her.

                She became a real soldier, with dagger and jerkin and boots, because survival runs heavy and fast in the blood of her people. He knows that nobility is a joke, but the teaching to be strong and brave, coupled with her innate strength and bravery, made Belle something special.

                He turns the ring over and over in his hand: it’s a narrow band of gold, set with a small, pale diamond, shot through with flecks of blue and pink and yellow. He wants to give it to his beloved soldier, make a marriage bed with her.

                The idea is a foolish one: true love is one thing, but real life is another. They are not well suited. Bravery and cowardice should not share a house, much less a bed.  

                He puts the ring back with the rest of the jewelry and does not look at it again. Belle has her own apartment, with the books she’s collected since she got here. The first step in breaking them apart is refusing to lend her more of his: simple, cruel, and effective.

                “Rumple, you know I’ll give them back,” she says playfully, eyes crinkled in amusement. He doesn’t smile back, simply turns away from her and back to his inventory. “All right, I’ll let you tell me what’s wrong on your own time.” She leaves irritated, and he does not meet her for lunch on time the next day.

                “Sorry, lost track of the time,” he says distractedly, stomach clenching at the quickly covered look of hurt in her eyes. He leaves early, answering a call on his phone, and she is wrenched by that, confusion and suspicion flickering over her face.

                He doesn’t call her up that night, though the thought that an apology, an explanation of what he was trying to do, could set it all right, makes his hand burn for the phone. Instead, he pours himself a glass of bourbon and downs the bitter liquid, staring at the ceiling for most of the evening.

                She confronts him when he brushes her off that morning, head pounding, purpose snarling behind his eyes.

                “Don’t push me away,” she says fiercely. “No matter what you think you’re doing for me or you, it’s not worth it.” He shakes his head.

                “I’m not pushing you aside, sweetheart.”

                Her bravery will break him, and his cowardice chain her, if they love each other. He avoids her, and at first she follows him, catching him in the street, panic in her eyes. Then, every time he sees her, it is hurt that burns at him, and he makes his skin as thick as it was when it was scaly and rough.

                They don’t make love, when a month of this became so painful he can barely look at her, or she him. They fuck, hard and desperate, on the couch in her apartment, and he leaves bruises on her throat, and goes home with scratches down his back. She’s crying as he picks up his jacket to leave, looking up at him with broken eyes.

                “Why are you doing this?” she whispers, and he adjusts his tie.

                “No matter which way we go, we’ll be unhappy.”

                She avoids him after that, shrinking away from him. He looks for her, but doesn’t see her with other people in town often. Not the brave princesses or the knights, or the villagers who squabble over land boundaries as they turn their lawns into crop gardens, propelled by habit.

                The peasants plant, and this is important. People are reverting to their selves, their real selves. Belle the soldier and Rumpelstiltskin the coward end up in tragedy, in loneliness, even in love. Cells and empty hearts, whatever story they try to write.

                She looks at him with angry eyes whenever she sees, and he misses the softness when she looked at him before. He watches her, wanting to see her bloom, watch the soldier inside straighten after his blows, and flourish.

                She blooms, not the way he expects, and it drains her face of color, leaving her white-cheeked as her belly swells.

                He goes back with the ring, without hope, and she looks at him like she might throw up at the sight of him, and he wonders if the soldier inside is strong enough to live through the birthing bed. There is no formal wedding, just papers signed, and the brief, traditional kiss does not leave him reeling like it would before, missing the snowy, electrifying taste of true love’s magic.

                She won’t look him in the eye when they go back to the house, and he wonders if she felt what was _lacking_ in that brief kiss. She doesn’t argue when he tells her to go to bed, for she doesn’t look well, and he throws up what little he’s eaten when he realizes that he managed to destroy her bravery when he so deliberately shredded their love, layer by layer.

                Now, he doesn’t need to worry about bravery and cowardice living under the same roof: cowards, the both of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece comes from the Brand New song "Bought a Bride."


End file.
